In Conference
by MissMelysse
Summary: Takes place between chapters 2 & 3 of Crush II: Ostinato. Data's POV of a couple of scenes. (As requested by a loyal reader.) It's technically a friendship story, with a hint of romance if you tilt your head and squint. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: ****_Star Trek: the Next Generation, the _****U.S.S. Enterprise****_, and all the canon characters belong to CBS/Paramount. The rest is mine._**

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><p><strong>In Conference<strong>

**(This takes place between chapters 2 and 3 of **_**Crush II: Ostinato**_**.) **

As he had done on many other occasions, Data was sitting on the sofa in his quarters, sharing a pot of tea with the young woman who had inserted herself into his life with an almost casual acceptance of his personhood. He had selected a blend of lemon and mint, as he had observed that this combination was soothing enough to help Zoe relax, but not so much so that it acted as a soporific.

He inhaled the paired fragrances of green herb and tart citrus, and considered the notion that with the comfort of the hot beverage, what also came was clarity. When Zoe was drinking this blend, her thoughts seemed to flow twelve point five percent more freely than when she drank tea that was comprised solely of minty herbs. Perhaps, he considered, she would allow him to experiment with different ratios of lemon to mint.

In her corner of the sofa – she had claimed it in one of their video calls during her summer away, and he had neither corrected her nor objected – Zoe seems…diminished. Not physically, though he has both read and been told that people, especially women, seem smaller when they are vulnerable. In fact, Zoe is now 4.572 centimeters taller than she had been when she had left for San Francisco. Rather, she seems less…herself.

He is at a loss to enumerate exactly how much less.

A part of his brain continues to process information on human growth, focusing on the near-constant state of flux of adolescents. Zoe had once accused him of treating her like a lab-rat. She could not have been further from the truth. His observation of her behavior, his cataloguing of her preferences in food, drink, music, ambient temperature…these are things he collects in order to better understand her, to offer more substantial support when she requires it, to…be a better friend.

The part of his brain that has been paying attention to her story does not grind to a halt, exactly, but if Geordi were to scan him right now, he is certain one thought would be burning more brightly than the others, and he is equally certain that said burning would be readily detectable.

"Zoe," he asks in his calmest, least 'officer-y' (her word – its coinage elicited a frown from him, which he suspects she considers a victory of some kind) voice, "Did Lore…force himself on you, sexually?" He does not know/is not certain/cannot admit that the reason he does not use the word 'rape' is that he does not want to hear it if the answer is 'yes,' that he does not know how to respond to such an answer, that he does not believe he can provide the emotional support she will undoubtedly seek from him.

He does not like to disappoint her. (She would say that his 'liking' and 'disliking' things counts as emotion. He denies this.)

This woman, this very brave, very _young_ woman, says the word for him. "You mean, did he rape me?"

He is so stunned by her simple honesty that his only answer is the single word, "Yes."

He wonders if she is teasing him, just a little bit, when her reply is the single word, "No."

The part of him that his her friend, that has shared confidences with her on this very sofa, that has met her eyes across a music stand and accepted the dare of playing with her, wants to leave it at that.

The part of him that bears a responsibility as a Starfleet officer – to the Federation, to the Fleet, to the ship, and, yes, also to her, knows he must ask more. In February, he had not been aware that Zoe was sexually active. Since learning that fact, there has been a new awareness: For all of her relative youth, it is possible, even likely, that she has more relationship experience than he does.

He is not certain why this should 'matter.'

He is _very_ certain it would be inappropriate to ask _her. _

"Did he…seduce you?"

"What? No! Data, I swear the only penetration of any kind was in my mouth." Her skin turns momentarily pale after her verbal misstep. "With the piercing gun," she clarifies.

He is…relieved. He understands that his brother is not without…charisma…when he chooses to use it, that the other android can be quite charming. When his brother had visited this ship, over a year before Zoe's arrival, Lore had successfully seduced three ensigns, two lieutenants, and one civilian scientist who had proclaimed a profound interest in cybernetics, one, he noted, that had never broadened to include…himself.

"If he did…" _then I will hunt him down and permanently deactivate him_, he does not say. But suddenly he _knows. _He knows that the time will come when he _will_ be forced to make that choice: forced to choose between the being who claims to love him/shares the closest analog he has to parentage/who, by his very existence, means that he is not alone in the universe, not a single-entity culture, and the organic beings, like his captain, his crewmates, Geordi – his best friend, and Zoe…his…Zoe.

Simultaneously, he knows/does not know which he would choose.

If Lore had seduced her, he wonders, would he perceive Zoe any differently? Would he be able to assure her that she was not at fault? Would she believe him if he did?

"If I'd thought rape was on his mind, I _would_ have called for help," she is saying, and he increases his focus on her words by seven point three four nine percent. "You said last time, if he wanted to cause me physical harm, he could have. He _would_ have. He said I matter to you, and so I was useful to him. Anyway, rape isn't his style. Coercion? Possibly. Seduction, definitely. But not rape."

"You seem certain."

"I _am_ certain. Also, I made sure of it while he was kissing me." He increases his focus again, this time by nine point two six five percent. He attempts to 'telegraph' his desire to know more via the use of a facial expression he had observed others employ. He is apparently successful as she continues, "I kicked him in the balls. Thanks for the information that it would work, by the way. Though, you might have warned me about how horrible his scream would sound."

He has never heard his brother scream. He has never heard himself scream. He makes a mental note to experiment with screaming at a future time, in a suitably soundproofed room. He does not ask Zoe what it sounded like to her.

"I did not know," he says. "Somewhat ironically, you are now in a position of knowing my brother more intimately than I do."

Her negative reaction to his phrasing is visible in the tremor that moves through her body. "Did you have to phrase it that way? I know I once asked you about meeting him, but that was when he was an idea and not a rather brutal reality." She lapses into silence, a silence that he does not disturb because the vast majority of his processing power is now devoted to determining what to do next, and how much of the likely outcome he can shield her from. "Data…what do we do now? I mean, you have to report this, don't you?"

He does, and he tells her so.

**(=A=)**

As he had on many other occasions, Data was sitting at the table in Conference Room One, along with his colleagues among the senior officers of the _Enterprise_, but he was not in his usual position, second from the head of the table, facing into the room. Instead he was at the foot of the table, a seat selection made in deference to the young woman to his right, who has never been in this room before.

He thought she would appreciate the view.

He knew she would prefer to be near him, as she had said so during the brief journey from his quarters. Specifically, she had asked if he would hold her hand, and he had agreed that he would, "if she so required."

The counselor was on Zoe's right, where she, too, could offer a hand to hold, while Geordi was on his left side, directly across from Zoe, the final element in the support system that had formed around their young friend, and one, he noted, that had occurred with no prior consultation. Or at least, none of which he had been previously aware.

He watches her as each of the officers present re-introduces themselves, and welcomes her to the room. He listens to the way she forces herself to speak slowly and clearly, meeting each pair of eyes, and exchanging greetings. He can tell that her pulse is more rapid than it should be, but outwardly, she seems quite calm.

The corners of his mouth quirk ever-so-slightly upward. He is, he realizes, _proud_ of her.

"Ms. Harris," the captain says, moderating his own tone to one that is two point eight nine percent softer than is customary. "Before you and Commander Data give your report, I wanted you to know that we have contacted your mother, on Earth, and assured her that you were unharmed in the bombing of the starbase. We have _not_ informed her of your…meeting…with Lore, as Mr. Data believes it would only cause undue distress."

"Thank you, sir," she responds.

"Very well. Mr. Data…?"

He turns a portion of his attention to the captain and relays his side of the events since his arrival at Zoe's hotel room door, than asks her to tell her story.

Again her speech is clear, slow, thoughtful. She appears to be considering every word she utters, and when his colleagues ask her many of the same questions he did - Did Lore provide any clues to his motivation? Does she have any idea of his whereabouts? – her hands remain folded on the table-top, the position an echo of his own.

When the questions change, when she is asked about sexual contact, she fidgets in her chair, and the Counselor nudges her own chair closer, slinging her arm around Zoe's shoulders.

He observes that Zoe accepts the contact, but still reaches for his hand, under the table.

He cradles her hand in his, fingers curved gently around the side of her palm. She is trembling. It is slight, visually undetectable. He caresses a pressure point on the back of her hand, between her thumb and her palm and is gratified when the trembling dissipates.

He sees the sidelong glance that the counselor gives her.

She does not.

When Zoe has finished speaking, when the questions have stopped, he explains about her bracelet, the 'bug,' and that he is attempting to backtrack the source.

The captain's glower, he understands, is for the situation, and not aimed at either Zoe or himself.

The meeting continues. The doctor reports that there are three casualties, but that no new injured persons have been found.

Lt. Worf reports that an organization referred to as the 'Keep Earth Human League' has claimed responsibility for the bombing.

Next to him, her hand still enfolded within his, Zoe emits a nonverbal noise. A moment later she exclaims, "That's it!"

His question, "Zoe, what is wrong?" overlaps with the captain's annoyed, "Ms. Harris, have you something to add?"

She hesitates. Her hand shifts within his, tightens, releases. "When I was telling Data what happened – last night – and when I was telling everyone again this morning, I kept feeling like I was forgetting something." Her speech, now, is not as smooth as it was. He sees the counselor's hand squeeze the young woman's shoulder. He believes this is for reassurance, and makes a note to find out if it was actually helpful.

"Continue," the captain urges.

"Data asked me last night –"

"This morning," he cannot help but correct.

"This morning, whatever, when you asked why I went with Lore – I forgot. I forgot he'd told me in the café that he wanted me to carry a message. I asked him if I looked like a carrier pigeon."

He re-allocated zero point zero four percent of his attention to cross-referencing the term 'carrier pigeon.'

"What did he say, Zoe?" the captain asked in a tone that he could only interpret as 'very gentle.'

Her hand was gripping his so tightly that, had he been made of flesh and blood instead of bio-plas sheeting, tritanium, and duranium, her fingernails would have broken the skin. "He said, 'you look like someone who wouldn't want to be responsible for the destruction of a Starbase and the death of the good people who inhabit it.'"

He saw her swallow reflexively and then continue. "Captain Picard – everyone – I'm obviously about as well-trained as a Rigellian ringed wombat, but I saw the KEHL people at customs. The agent who handled my paperwork said they'd been there for weeks, but they still hadn't figured out that they should hold their demonstrations at the departure lounge instead of arrivals."

"Mr. Data is it possible that Lore was actually responsible for these bombings."

Seven hundred scenarios ran through his brain, of which only six or seven were truly possible, and two or three likely, but he only answered, "Yes, sir. It is possible."

"You will work with Lt. Worf and starbase security to determine if 'KEHL' was the true culprit. Report your findings to me by end of day. Ms. Harris…"

"Captain?" He heard the quaver in her voice. If any of his colleagues also detected it, he could not discern it.

"I am truly sorry for what you have been through, and I appreciate your candor this morning. Please make yourself available to Commander Data and Lt. Worf should they need you to provide further information, after the doctor has had a closer look at your…jewelry."

"Of course, sir." Her answer spurred him to turn his head for a closer analysis of her expression. Her tone had been a near-echo of his own, when uttering such a phrase.

"Very well, then, dismissed."

He stands with her while the room clears informing Worf that he will begin his own investigation and confer with him in approximately ninety minutes. Once they are alone, he says, "You did very well this morning, Zoe."

"I didn't," she tells him. "I was terrified and I felt so _stupid, _and I had to hold your hand like I was some idiot child."

"I beg to differ. You may have felt 'terrified' but you presented yourself with calm and poise. As to your need to hold my hand, is it not natural to seek support and reassurance in a new situation?"

"Yes." He watches her, perceiving the subtle changes of her expression as she 'processes' his statement. "I didn't want to disappoint you," she says in the tone he has come to interpret as 'confessional.'

"You have not," he says. "Indeed, you could not."

She locks her brown-eyed gaze with his, and for a moment he is unsure of what her reaction will be. Then she rises onto her toes, and presses a swift kiss to his cheek. "Can we stop for breakfast before I have to be poked and prodded by Dr. Crusher?" she asks. "And then can I please get my stuff from your quarters and go home? I mean, you're awesome, and everything, and I know you were just trying to take care of me, but…" She does not finish her sentence.

He refrains from lifting his hand to touch the place where her kiss was bestowed, the spot that is now one point two zero nine percent warmer than the rest of his face. "Is Ten-Forward an acceptable breakfast location?" he asks, and in so doing provides an answer to her initial question. "If so, I will inform both Lt. Worf and the doctor that we will both be delayed, and I will escort you to your quarters after you have eaten."

Her smile, for the first time since their…reunion…is the one he thinks of as 'Zoe's smile.' It is the expression he has not yet painted/wants to paint/is unsure he can capture in paint.

Zoe has come home.

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><p><strong>Notes: <strong> This is for the guest-reviewer who signs everything as 'Name goes here,' who was specific about wanting to know the thought process behind a specific line. See what happens when I can't respond to a review within the review system? (Actually, it's for all y'all, but NGH gets the credit for the specific inspiration.


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